I was aimlessly flipping through my journals aged three years, only to see a letter I had begun to write for you a couple months ago. Buried beneath pages filled with ramblings from a freshman class, there was my handwriting from only a few months ago, graphite still fresh.
“Dearest,
There are no words for what you mean to me, yet I still sit here trying to find them.”
My heart stopped when I read your name atop it, and though I don’t remember the exact moment of writing this, I very vividly do remember feeling it. I was completely enchanted by you, and rightfully so. When you stood in front of me, I was able to hold the embodiment of everything I’ve ever lost coming back to me, the most beautiful version of everything I’ve ever wanted and never believed I deserved. Your eyes held liquid sun and had the ability to spread the most ridiculous, childlike grin across my face in an instant, even when I felt like falling apart. Each kiss had me more convinced you truly are a nepenthe, a fictional remedy for all sorrows, somehow brought into reality with warm skin and a kind voice. In your arms, I forgot every ache I had ever suffered and each unkind word ever said. You are manifested love. In all the right, most beautiful ways, you are true, real, wholehearted love.
I cried when I read that simple sentence, I won’t lie. I miss writing and trying to ramble out all the chaotic thoughts tangled in my mind, knowing you’d read it and understand. I miss falling asleep on FaceTime with you, or you asking me to read my old poems to you as you fall asleep. I miss going to Our Tree down by the lake, the old fallen oak and empty field. I miss singing in the car with you to all our favorite songs and that mixed CD I made, feeling completely blissful and free. I miss the simple time we spent, making food in your kitchen (aside from the queso pasta; that was a tragic mistake) and dancing around in the refrigerator light or you tucking me in to take a much needed nap as you tuned a guitar. I miss fitting perfectly in your arms, as if we were two puzzle pieces finally meeting. I miss those random calls of appreciation, little reminders that your heart always beats with the melody of my name. I miss just laying in your eno for hours, losing track of the time because it always seemed to freeze when we were together. I miss picking out stars and making our own little constellations, my favorites being the ones made of the freckles lining your skin. I miss late night walks in blissful peace until I brought up the sounds of the cicadas your mind had shut out, only to get you all playfully frustrated. I miss listening to you play that beautiful song you wrote for me, and telling me you could write a whole album about my eyes. I miss knowing I had a place beside you, even if the rest of the world had collapsed around me. I miss holding your hand and knowing our hearts synced up, feeling exactly what the other felt. I miss that. I miss us. I miss you.
That beautiful bright bonfire you had set in my heart became our home and I will always be thankful for the time we spent beside it. Even though now I sit here alone, the fire is just as strong, burning just as brightly.
Porcelain Prose 